


the real hero

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Excelsior, Gen, I swear this isn't as angsty as it seems, RIP Stan Lee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 04:26:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16695406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Something none of the Avengers could name had gone incredibly wrong and though they couldn't see it, they all felt it weigh down on their shoulders with the clarity of a slash of lightning.Written in the memory of Stan Lee, the hero who wielded an ink pen and paper and somehow managed to create whole universes right beneath his fingertips.





	the real hero

**Author's Note:**

> This fic doesn't follow any particular timeline, so characters from different timelines may appear simultaneously. I was going to include more people, but well....

Something none of the Avengers could name had gone incredibly wrong and though they couldn't see it, they all felt it weigh down on their shoulders with the clarity of a slash of lightning.

***

Peter Parker felt it just as the lunch bell went off, his Spidey-senses tingling unpleasantly.

He remembered the scratch of pencil against paper, and an oddly satisfying joy. He saw, for a brief second, the blurred face of an old man, and it felt important to him, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

"Something's wrong," he told Ned as they swiped their things off their desks and stumbled out of the classroom. "I don't know why."

There must have been something on Peter's face that convinced Ned, because he didn't ask. Instead he muttered something to MJ, who muttered a hurried excuse to the decathlon gang about having to skip the group lunch for detention, and together they ushered Peter out into the deserted parking lot and all but threw his phone at him.

Peter's hands were shaking, and after a few tries he dialed the right number and held his breath as he listened.

"Happy Hogan speaking."

Peter let it out in a rush. "Oh my god, Happy, I'm so glad you picked up---listen, this is gonna sound stupid, but can you ask Mr. Stark if anything weird's happened recently? No, I swear it's not April Fools this time, just---can you _please_ take the message to him? _Please?_ \---"

***

In the depths of his lab in Stark Tower, Tony Stark felt it as surely as if someone had ripped his arc reactor straight out of his chest.

He flinched, dropping his electric drill. The tool clattered to the floor and continued to make rough noises as it thrummed against the tiles.

He remembered his early days as little Tony, sole heir to Stark Industries. He remembered Afghanistan, and the beginnings of Iron Man. Most of all, he remembered an old man, wearing glasses and a sweater, smiling as he bent over a piece of paper and began to sketch.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" he yelled over the noise. "What the hell was that?"

"I sense a danger warning three blocks away, sir," said J.A.R.V.I.S., which really wasn't answering his question at all. "Scanning attempts have proven to be futile. Would you like to reinstate the scanning?"

"What? Oh, no," said Tony, fumbling for the power switch on the drill while looking out in case he stepped on the vibrating blade and butchered his foot. "Are any of the Avengers in the Tower?"

"All of them are in residence," J.A.R.V.I.S. confirmed.

"Get Steve," said Tony, finally silencing the electric drill and moving to get the Iron Man suit. "Tell him to assemble the Avengers."

"Might I inquire after the logic of this seemingly out-of-the-blue decision?"

"Just do it."

"Director Fury will not be pleased."

"Uh, since when did we listen to Nick Fury?"

If J.A.R.V.I.S. had a face, it would most definitely be smiling. "Your request is being processed, sir."

***

Steve Rogers felt it as he stood at the front of the conference room, looking back at the faces of his teammates as he droned on the necessities.

"....And as Tony and Bruce have reconfirmed several times already, there is a detected warning signal of unknown origin three blocks away from Stark Tower, so it is of our best interest to check for possible dangers. We have been contacted by Wakanda, and Spider-Man from Queens, but as we are closest to the suspected site...."

He glanced towards Tony and Bruce, who looked uncharacteristically grim, then at the rest of the conference table.

"So essentially, we don't _know_ why we're going out in full armor," Clint said. "But we are anyway."

"That...is correct," said Steve, wincing slightly at how whimsical that sounded.

Clint stared back at him unblinkingly for a few moments. "Alright," he said.

"As am I," Thor asserted with a heft of his hammer.

Steve felt his mouth part in surprise. "You're okay with it?"

Natasha's expression at the end of the table was unreadable.

"We all felt something too," Sam clarified, as if that explained everything.

And somehow, it did.

"Avengers," said Steve heavily, "assemble."

***

Stan Lee had lived a fulfilling life.

He'd created worlds, brilliant worlds. Amidst all the heroes he'd put to life by pen and paper he alone was the only real hero in them all.

Stan Lee had lived a fulfilling life, and that had ended. But all endings are also beginnings, and the 12th of November, 2018, was a new beginning for him.

The first thing he was aware of was the sound of wailing sirens. Then someone said, "It's okay now, Mr Lee, you're safe here."

He opened his eyes.

Standing in front of him were a team of people he'd never in his wildest dreams imagined of ever seeing face to face.

"We are the Avengers, Mr Lee," said Captain America. Sunlight bounced off his shield and illuminated his face as he gestured to the rest of his comrades behind him. "We've come to welcome you home."

**Author's Note:**

> ....and Stan Lee lived in his home world happily ever after.
> 
> why couldn't that have been what happened instead?!


End file.
